„Do you think this is the right place John?“ Jean asked her boyfriend.
“According to the advertisement this must be the building. On the road plan of the city it is just next to the river; looks like an old warehouse.”
“Old is the word for it, so let’s go in and see what happens next. It says third floor so let’s take the lift” and Jean and John pressed the button and the lift came. It was an old wooden construction, nothing modern, and looked as if it was more used to transporting machinery or bales of cotton than people. They opened the wooden frame to the lift when they arrived and entered an enormous area which first of all seemed empty. It was then they heard footsteps approaching.
“Good morning, you must be the models I advertised for.” Standing before them was a man. Jean had the feeling that Methuselah had decided to come back to life. He had long flowing grey hair and a face that had wrinkles which had been ploughed in over the years. It seemed that the only thing that brought him to modern times were his nicotine stained fingers holding a cigarette and his jeans and t-shirt.
“I suppose you are wondering what this is all about. Just follow me and you will see what I want from you both. Young man, would you please come over here and remove your clothes.”
“Sorry, but I am not into that sort of thing” answered John with a shocked look on his face.
“I don’t know what you mean by “sort of thing” young man, I am an artist and will be creating a work of art, so please removed your clothing completely and put these trousers on.”
“Is that all I am wearing, but it’s cold in here and who are you anyhow?”
“I told you I am the artist, and the quicker you get into action, the warmer you will become. Please don’t bother me with such trivial matters. Now you will please kneel down on the floor and curl up. No not like that, watch me.”
And the artist got down onto the floor and made the pose he wanted.
“Come on John, do what he wants. It won’t be the first time I have seen you without clothes, and the trousers are not so bad. After all we are getting paid for the job aren’t we?” and with the last words she glared at the artist.
“Yes, yes you will get paid, but only according to the results.”
“Results” said John and Jean in unison, but their remark was ignored.
“So young lady will you come over here and stand behind the screen. No, no, no, not just stand there but do something. Put your hand onto the screen. Although, no, that is not the result I really wanted. Just a minute. Young man”
John stood up. “What do you want me to do now? I was getting all cramped up with that pose on the floor.”
“Do I have to say it again? We are creating a work of art. Now come a bit nearer to the screen and kneel down once again. Young lady put your hand on the screen. No that is not the effect I want. Just a minute” and the artist fetched a lamp which he put behind Jean and switched on casting a shadow of her hand through the screen and reflecting on John’s body.
“That’s it, that is the solution.” The artist now stood behind his camera which was poised on a tripod and took photos. He took many photographs that day.
“So I am now finished” he said as he once again lit up a cigarette. “You may go.”
“Is that all” said John “What about the money?”
“Money, money! You youngsters are just after the money today, no idea of artistic values. What did we arrange. Ten pounds each I believe.”
“That’s ok with us” answered John. John got redressed and left the warehouse with Jean on his arm.
“Mummy, why are we here looking at all these photos?”
“They are not just photographs” answered Jean “but works of art”.
“What’s a work of art” the little girl asked.
“Well, it’s like this” and John took over the conversation.
“When mummy and daddy didn’t have so much money, we let a man take some photos of us for money.”
“What happened to the photos” daddy
“Well if you look over there on the wall you will see the photo I mean.”
And there was a photo of a man crouched on the floor with a woman trying to reach him in the background. It was the main attraction of the exhibition. The artist had died, and when his brother was looking through his belongings he found all the photos. The artist himself was never discovered during his lifetime, but as it sometimes happens, people only become famous and celebrated when they pass on.
Writer's Bock - Challenge #56: The photo